


Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean knows, as soon as the assignment is set, who the subject of his portrait is going to be. But will Castiel pick him, too?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

“I want you to paint a portrait of someone in this room,” Miss Mosely had said to the circle of students watching her over their easels. “Pick anyone and paint. I want to see a finished painting by the end of the afternoon.”

Dean sucked in a breath. He knew who he was going to paint, of course. It’d be easy to finish the painting in so short a time, seeing as he’d painted this subject more than once before. He glanced across at Cas, who was frowning at his blank canvas with his eyes narrowed.

“Who ya painting, Dean?” Garth asked.

“Uh, well. Cas is in a good light, over there,” he replied, gesturing carelessly at Cas with his paintbrush. He leaned over to pick up his palette, and started mixing the brown of Cas’ hair.

“Reckon Bess will paint me?” Garth asked, looking over at her.

“In that ugly-ass shirt? No way, man,” Dean said with a grin. Garth looked down at his vibrant green t-shirt.

“Brings out the colour of my eyes,” he said, blinking behind his aviators.

“We’ll have those off, thank you, Mr Fitzgerald,” Miss Mosely said, whipping them away as she passed. Garth sighed. “Well, I’m painting  _her_ , anyway,” he said, staring at Bess as she also began mixing.

The afternoon passed slowly but happily. Cas didn’t seem to be looking up from his own canvas much, so Dean made full use of his reason to watch Cas unashamedly; he paid careful attention to the way Cas’ mouth curled up slightly on one side as he worked, and the shadows under his smooth jawline.

“Anyone got green?” Bess asked at one point. “I’m all out.”

“I think Castiel has used all the green in the room,” Miss Mosely said, sweeping around the outside of the circle. “Beautiful work, Castiel. I’ll fetch some more paints out of the back.”

Dean felt his heart sink. Cas was painting Garth in his stupid green shirt? He was going to look so stupid when everyone saw how much effort he’d put into his portrait. He felt a little sick. It was too late to start again, though, so he went back to dabbing spots of ocean blue into Cas’ eyes.

“Boy, that’s a real labour of love, Dean,” Garth said at one point, just as Dean was adding a darker tone to the base of Cas’ neck, where his collarbones went in.

“Oh, you know,” Dean mumbled. “Bit of a perfectionist.” He hoped Garth was too busy considering the angle of Bess’ cheekbones to remember Dean’s somewhat sloppier attempts at earlier assignments.

“Uh huh. Well, Cas looks great,” Garth said, turning back to his own painting.

“Yeah,” Dean said softly, looking over the top of his canvas. Cas was squinting at his portrait, skilfully flipping his paintbrush round and round in his tanned hands. Dean tried the same move experimentally, just as Cas looked over. He quickly looked back at his painting, feeling a slight blush rising in his cheeks. He thought he saw Cas smiling out of the corner of his eye, but that was probably wishful thinking. Dean could count the number of times he’d seen Cas really smile on the fingers of one hand.

“OK, paintbrushes down, canvases in the table at the centre,” Miss Mosely said about half an hour later. Garth leapt up, joining the rest of the class clamouring to see each other’s work. He gave a crow of delight when Bess’ portrait was revealed: Garth, aviators in place, t-shirt hideous, looking badass and dorky in equal measure. The rest of the class whooped as Garth wrapped his lanky arms around Bess’ shoulders. Dean held back, hoping that he could somehow escape this. From what he could see, the other portraits weren’t nearly as… detailed, or intense, as his own. He didn’t want to embarrass Cas by making his crush painfully obvious.

“I see we’ve got a couple of people reluctant to show us their masterpieces,” Miss Mosely said, standing behind the centre table with her hands on her hips. Dean looked up and saw Cas also wavering by his easel, canvas clutched as close to his body as he could without getting paint on his clothes. “Come on up here, boys. That’s it. Now, on three, OK?”

Dean clutched his portrait tightly in both of his sweating, painty hands. He threw a glance at Cas; the guy looked as nervous as Dean, his eyes darting over the other portraits.

“One, two… three!” Dean pressed his lips together, shut his eyes, and laid down his canvas. He prepared himself to see the painting of Garth, probably perfect in that swooping, messy style that Cas had developed over the past year or so. He swallowed, and opened his eyes.

And saw himself. His own face, filling the canvas, so close and intimate that it was startling. His mouth was full and curved, his cheeks scruffy with light stubble, and his eyes so wide and green…

Dean cleared his throat.

“So, uh. That’s what you were using the green for,” he said eventually. He turned to Cas, who was staring at Dean’s painting with an unreadable expression. “Cas…?”

Cas reached out a finger and touched the small curve of a smile that Dean had painted at the side of his mouth. Then, without warning, he lifted both hands up to cup Dean’s face, and kissed him full on the mouth. It was hard, and fast, and Dean didn’t even have time to respond before Cas was pulling away.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said. “That was inappropriate.”

Dean was vaguely aware of Miss Mosely talking, and the class muttering to each other and laughing, but the noises were tiny and insignificant compared to the sound of Cas swallowing and the hitch in his breathing.

“No, man,” Dean said, reaching for Cas’ hand. “That was perfect.”


End file.
